


Trade Off

by beaniebaneenie



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Demons, F/M, M/M, Maybe longer, Multi, Scraps/OFC, a whole new expansion team, also it's gonna be a bit before the patater happens, at least for a while, literal faustian bargain, will add as necessary - Freeform, zimbits WILL break up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 07:56:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14996330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beaniebaneenie/pseuds/beaniebaneenie
Summary: Jack wants to be a hockey legend more than anything. He wants - needs - to be better than his father. And he wants it badly enough to make a bargain with a demon.Kent wants things too... but he doesn't want them for himself. All he wants is for Jack to be happy, to get the recognition he wants, and to stop being eaten alive by his anxiety. Kent has never been one to just hope for the best, and he too enters into a contract with a creature of darkness.Turns out, you should be careful how you word things when you deal with demons. Otherwise... things can go wrong. Very, very wrong.





	Trade Off

* * *

 

“Asmodeus!” The voice rang out. “You’ve been summoned topside.”

“Me? No one’s been foolish enough for that in decades.”

“Looks like a young guy, that’s probably why.”

The archdemon looked through the scrying pool to see the next pathetic mortal who couldn’t solve their own problems and felt the need to beg a demon for help.

It was a young boy, a man, he supposed. His skin was pale, with bags under his eyes and a manic edge to his gaze, shoulders shaking slightly.

“An addict,” he said, bored. “Wants me to make it all go away, I suppose?” As he looked into the boy’s soul, he saw a wildly flickering light, one whose embers had already been poisoned. He shrugged. That wasn’t about to get better, seeing as how the idiot had just summoned a creature of Hell.

“Duty calls,” he said, melting through the portal and materializing behind the boy. He didn’t get up here often enough anymore... might as well have some fun with it.

He stepped closer, the heat and stench of the brimstone wafting from his leathery skin. A moment later, the boy noticed, and turned around, jumping back with a stifled scream.

“Wh-what the hell are you?”

The demon chuckled. “Don’t play dumb. Much as it looks good on you, that summoning spell is an old one. Mentions me by name. You couldn’t have gotten this far without some serious research.” He eyed the dark book that lay open at the foot of the summoning circle, its black leather binding flaking from age. Out of habit, he checked the lines. Well-drawn, not a single crack. Damn. Still, maybe this kid would slip some other way.

“What’s your name?” When the boy didn’t move or speak, he rolled his eyes. “You know me. Asmodeus. You’ve spoken it, and you’ve got me at a disadvantage... seems rather rude, don’t you think?”

“Jack,” the boy said, “Jack Zimmermann.”

These humans.... Never seemed to learn from their own history. He had the kid’s name... given willingly, too. He knew the deal would be made, but if he got a few extra minutes away from the all-consuming fires of Sheol, then he would take them. “What’s your poison?”

“What?”

Addicts. Never wanted to admit it. “What are you-” the kid would never admit to needing the substance, whatever it was. Despite the fact that he had sunk so low as to strike this bargain. “Things seem awfully bad.... What helps to make it better?”

“Pills,” Jack said, forcing the word out. “I- I take pills.”

“And you want to stop?” By the Almighty, this was unbelievably boring. How had this child managed to get his hands on a book that summoned _him_?

“No... no, they help,” Jack said. “Why would I want to stop them?”

 _Clearly they aren’t helping enough_. Asmodeus let his lips curve into a silky smile. “Then... what can I do for you? What exactly do you want?” He decided to show off a bit, and let small tongues of flame dance down his fingers, flickering into nothingness at the edge of the circle. “You called me,” he said. “Ball’s in your court, as it were.” He arched a brow. “You’ve played ball, right?”

“I play hockey.”

A hockey player.... Maybe this would be interesting after all. He hadn’t made a deal with a hockey player in years... they were always interesting. And what a delightfully violent and toxic mess hockey was... He wondered sometimes who the Great One must have spoken to for his fame and skill. It hadn’t been him... but maybe, maybe Jack Zimmermann would give him a decent story for bragging rights down in the pit.

“And you need to play better?”

“I need to be the best. Better than my father,” he mumbled.

“The best? Is that all?” Didn’t they teach the importance of specific requests anymore?

“You don’t understand,” Jack said, his voice getting desperate, his shoulders shaking again.

“Then explain it better.”

“I need to be the best. I need to break records. To- I need to be remembered.”

Asmodeus grinned, and couldn’t help the thrill of the fire pulsing in his veins. This kid... this kid was dripping with desperation, with need. It was rolling off him in waves, and Asmodeus could practically taste it. Such a young, pure soul that was aching for this corruption. Jack... he was truly ready and willing to give up anything, even something he did not know he had, for this. The deal was there.

“I can do that.”

“You can?”

Damn everything, but this child was naive. “Of course I can. If you can pay for it. How long are you willing to wait?”

“I can’t,” he said, and the desperation was back. Asmodeus flicked his tongue out, tasting the fear in the air. He breathed it in. It had been centuries since he’d gotten to taste something like this.

“I can’t wait, it has- it has to be now... the draft is in less than a month. I have to be- it has to be now.”

“Sure thing.” He fluttered his fingers, locking eyes with the kid. “Full terms, everything you said... in seven years. We’ll start with the draft,” he said. “And go on from there. Once I’ve fulfilled my terms of the contract, payment due.”

“Deal,” Jack said, eager and earnest. “How- what... how does this work?” He stuck out a hand to shake it, but then looked down at the circle.

“Come here, to the edge.”

Jack obeyed.

Asmodeus reached up a hand to the circle’s wall, tracing a slice through the air in fire, a glowing red line left behind in the air. He blew a puff of smoke out, and the sigil left the circle until it reached Jack’s wrist, searing itself into the soft skin there, branding him.

Jack’s eyes were watering from the smoke and the pain. “Seven years?” he whispered, his voice cracking from the sheer desire and the want deep in his soul.

“Seven years. Seven seasons. I’ll fulfill my terms. Then, payment due.”

“Agreed.”

“Agreed,” Asmodeus echoed. “The bargain is struck, and bound by blood, ash, and bone, to be paid upon pain of eternal damnation.”

Jack shuddered, but nodded.

“See ya ‘round, Jack Zimmermann. You’ll be a household name in no time.”

The boy smiled, shaking so badly he fell to his knees. “Thank you,” he croaked out.

As the demon melted back through the portal, he chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll have different words for me next time, kid.”

* * *

 

_one week later_

 

Kent scrubbed at his eyes, willing the tears to stop and only shaking harder when they didn’t. He had known that Jack wasn’t well, but he hadn’t realized it was this bad. He knew that drinking was bad- and that Jack couldn’t seem to stop once he got started. He knew that Jack wasn’t supposed to have alcohol with his pills. Kent had been the one to read the label and point this out. He’d only gotten yelled at for his trouble, so he’d resolved to keep an eye out. To watch out for Jack when Jack couldn’t watch out for himself anymore.

This was so bad. After the party, he’d gotten Jack home… and gone to bed, only to wake up to the sound of Jack convulsing next to him. Kent had gotten him over on his side, and made sure that Jack didn’t choke on the vomit… and then helped him to the bathroom to clean up. And watched him take two more pills before smiling lazily at him and then going back to bed.

It was the stupid draft. The stupid newspapers. The stupid analysts…. Everything. Everyone. No one understood how hard Jack was working, how much pressure was on his shoulders. How badly Jack wanted – needed – this to go perfectly. Kent knew. He understood.

And he knew that he would do anything, anything at all, to make sure it happened the right way. The only way that it could happen. Anything else wouldn’t work. He had prayed to every god he knew… and Jack had only been getting worse. Time to pray to someone else.

The old book with its cracked and peeling leather spine was at the back of the old bookstore. Still in the religion section, and its pages were yellowed with age. They were brittle between his fingers, and the scent of amber and vanilla was strong… and something else, the longer he flipped through them. Sulfur.

Part of him didn’t even believe that this was possible… but he had drawn the lines, found the stones, even cut his hand, spilling the blood on the dark altar, and watching it seep into the floorboards. He would do this, he would do anything, for Jack.

“Please,” he forced the words out, his throat feeling tight and dry after the Latin, “please, I can’t do this by myself anymore… I need your help. I can’t help him anymore, but I promised… I can’t- I can’t watch him do this. I need you to help him.”

* * *

 This…. This was different. Camniel was not a stranger to the pact, the deadly and dangerous bargains forged out of desperation, greed, envy… she had been around since the beginning. She had seen it all. Or, so she liked to think. This one… this plea for help, a plea that had not been addressed to anyone in particular – dangerous in and of itself, as the poor sap couldn’t be sure of which demon might answer – it was different. There was a note of song at the center, different from anything she had ever heard in one of these contracts before.

She pushed past the others around the scrying pool, her great wings beating them aside. She outranked everyone present, and she knew it. More importantly, so did they, and they cowered before her. “This is mine. I call upon my right as an ancient one, a dragon-born, from time immemorial, to claim this soul and its attendant price.”

The others nodded and bowed flat to the red-hot rock. What else could they do? There were precious few here who could claim higher, and none of them were present. One of her hands reached for the pool and melted through the warped image, transporting her to the side of the wretched soul who had called for her.

The wretched soul was only a child, barely more than a boy. He should have been almost a man- but something was clearly destroying him from the inside out. His eyes were locked onto her, and though he was clearly afraid, she noted his shaking fists and deliberate breaths – on an even count, clearly he had some experience with maintaining calm – and she knew that he would not be dissuaded easily. A quick glance down told her that this boy had drawn his circles well, she would not break through the lines.

“You have called, and I am answering. For what are you so desperate, little one?”

The boy breathed in for seven counts, held it for seven, then breathed out over seven more. She appreciated the consistency, and she felt his heart rate even out.

“He has to go first.”

This boy, this boy with the soulsong wanted to kill someone? She hadn’t gotten that vibe earlier… perhaps she had misunderstood. “Explain,” she said, wondering whether he would elaborate, or would dig himself into a hole.

“Jack, my-” the boy stopped, hands grasping in front of him like he could pull the words he needed from thin air. “He- it’s killing him, and I can’t- I can’t save him by myself. I need you to help, please.”

“What is killing him?” she asked. “And what do you want me to do about it? Without a directive, a bargain cannot be struck.”

“Jack… he- we play hockey,” the boy said. “We’re good. I- I think maybe I’m too good,” he said, tears spilling from his eyes. “Jack helped me, he helped me get better… and then I think I got too good, and now everyone keeps talking about which one of us will go first, at the draft… which is stupid, it’s supposed to be him, it was always supposed to be him. You’ve got to make sure that happens,” he said. “I’ve been trying to help him, but the worry- the fear... he doesn’t think he’s good enough, and he is! He’s everything,” the boy said. She knew he meant it in every sense of the word. She could feel the hot, sick, desperate affection and love this boy had for Jack seeping from every pore. This boy… he was willing to make a devil’s bargain for the benefit of someone else. She hadn’t seen someone like this in centuries.

“You want nothing for yourself?” She had to check, to ensure she fulfilled her terms. But he didn’t take it that way.

“I don’t care about me. If my life is hell, that’s okay… as long as Jack goes first at the draft. Everything will be okay after that, he’ll make it okay. He’s- he’s just like that… you’d understand if you knew him,” the boy said, his voice trailing off and his eyes shifting from a deep green to blue. _Oh, you sweet child_ , she thought. _If only you hadn’t said that_. But, as unwittingly as it had happened, the boy had just given her his terms. His life to become a living hell, in exchange for his request.

“I do not know your Jack, but I do understand. I know what you want... but I need his name, and yours.” At his hesitance, she said, “His full name.”

The boy bit his lip. “Jack- Jack Laurent Zimmermann... and uh. I- I’m Kent,” he said. “Kent Vadim Parson.”

White, brightness. God is his strength. A Priest. This boy had not one, not two... but three holy names. Some serious protection. And the sterling silver star around his neck hadn’t escaped her notice either.

“Kent Vadim Parson,” she said, “we have set the terms of our bargain.” The corner of her mouth quirked up. “You agree to this, to the terms of payment and fulfillment by me, Camniel?”

Kent nodded. “I agree.” He stuck out his hand, and she started. This boy, Kent. So polite. He was trying to shake her hand.

It was almost refreshing to meet a human who treated even a fallen angel, a demon, with such kindness. “The bargain is struck, and bound by blood, ash, and bone, to be paid against your immortal soul.”

Camniel snapped her fingers, tracing lines into the air for her sigil. Kent’s eyes - now they were a slate grey - widened as the fiery line moved through the air, out of the circle, and affixed itself to his wrist. He gasped, but clenched his teeth through the pain. She heard him whisper through clenched teeth, “push off, skate through.”

Kent seemed used to pain. That was good. The next seven years were not going to be easy for him. Though, as she spoke the words to him, she hoped that her intuition was still as strong as it used to be in days of old, and that Kent Parson was strong enough to make it through the fire. If she could, she would ensure that his selfless act, for at its heart this was indeed selfless, would be rewarded.

* * *

Jack looked happier the next morning. Kent sighed in relief. Maybe that demon- Camniel, he thought, she was already following through. Jack was smiling at him, and calling him ‘Kenny’. He was softer, more relaxed.

The days before the draft passed quickly, one into the next. And Jack stayed happy, stayed smiling. He only saw Jack take a few pills, instead of the handfuls he was shoving in his mouth before. And the alcohol was slowing too. That was good. Kent rubbed the star of David at his throat between his thumb and forefingers, sending a prayer of thanks to Camniel. He had Jack back, his Jack. And that was all he really wanted. Nothing else mattered.

* * *

 

The draft was tonight. Kent knew how it was going to go. Well, all right, not all of it. He only knew who was going first. It was Jack. It had to be Jack, that was what he’d bargained for, and he trusted her.

Kent shot Jack a crooked grin from his seat, and straightened his tie. He wished he could kiss Jack, to wipe away the last of the nervousness that he could see in Jack’s ice blue eyes. He knew he couldn’t. Even if he had the courage to do it, Jack would never want to come out like this, not in the middle of the hockey world, not with everyone watching. Jack would never want that. But that was okay. He had Jack, and Jack was going to go first, and be happy. Everything else would be fine after that.

Once the opening speeches were out of the way, and the announcer stepped up to begin the proceedings, Kent snuck a hand over and squeezed Jack’s fingers in his. Without looking, he knew where Jack’s hand would be. Jack was going to go first, he knew it. He knew it like he knew the world was round, or that he had freckles on his nose. Jack still looked nervous, but Kent knew better. Jack didn’t need to be nervous. His name was going to be called any second now.

“And the moment I know I’ve been waiting for,” a tall man with game-show hair and a too-bright smile snapped into the microphone. “The first overall draft pick for the 2009 season is-”

Kent touched Jack’s knee, and shot him a confident grin. Usually that worked, but it wasn’t this time. “It’s gonna be fine, Zimms. I promise. It’s all you. I-”

Jack stood up at the same time as the announcer spoke.

“-to the Las Vegas Aces, Keeeent Parson!”

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> This started as an idea in the Salt Mine... and the Posse. Y'all know who you are. Special thanks to both Ellie's, blithelybonny, ladyeternal, Allison, Lex, and a few others who are probably escaping me due to how sleepy I am.
> 
> Note: this will not be happy for a while, but there will eventually be a happy ending. Also, there are demons, dark magic, blood magic, and evil things mentioned herein. Demons sometimes say and do bad things, and the demons don't always condemn them. Y'all have been warned. (If later, there needs to be something tagged, let me know and I'll make sure things are updated accordingly.)


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